Shadow Chaser
by FugitSomnium
Summary: Jon Snow returns from beyond the Wall to Winterfell after facing defeat against the White Walkers. Upon returning, he learns something about himself and discovers something new hidden in the castle. This is going to be a North-centric story until the end. This is loosely based on the TV series, with some spoilers inside. Ratings may change. Eventual Jonrya. :)
1. The Discovery

_**Hi! This started as a random idea in my mind so I wanted to post it here. I'm unsure of what direction I'll take this, especially since I'm still trying to write my other fanfic, but I love the theory of Winterfell being a key structure to the prophecy of Azor Ahai. But, I hope you guys enjoy this. I haven't read the series yet so I don't know if this is even possible but hey. It's fiction of fiction. Please read and review :) I do not own Jon Snow or any other characters of Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire.**_

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As Jon walked through the grounds of the castle he thought of as home, he allowed his thoughts to overcome him.

 _Azor Ahai will be reborn amid smoke and salt_

 _He will wake dragons out of stone_

He headed to the crypts of the Starks, but hesitation creeped in slowly. He recalled the times when he and Robb would go down there to play tricks on the younger ones, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Sansa was always the first to run away crying, while Bran would hang onto Robb's leg. But Arya, even when she was young, she always saw through the tricks they pulled and never allowed fear to overcome her. The fond memory made his heart ache for those simple times.

He stepped into the crypts and heard only the echo of his footsteps and every intake of breath. He thought back to his recurring dreams of these very crypts. He could still hear the voices of all the dead former Kings of Winterfell telling him he doesn't belong here. A chill spread through his spine as he remembered the feeling of their stone cold eyes watching him. His heart pounded in his chest but he willed himself to keep going.

He didn't know for sure what compelled him to come here, torch in hand, pounding heart and all.

He had so many failed plans, the latest was his expedition beyond the Wall. Some of the best fighters he'd ever met, now gone. Just like his other friends before him. They haunted him every day and every night, he could still see their faces when their life had long since slipped away from them. He held onto their memories as a reminder.

He's never doubted himself more, but he had a feeling. An inkling or hope, call it what you may, he was no poet after all but his instinct told him to go here. Before his head could catch up with his feet there he is now in front of the crypts. Where the man he thought of as a father now laid at rest.

 _But not really my father_ , he thought. Bran and Sam had told him about his origins. The tiredness from the battle had dulled his sense of comprehension, and the image of the White Walkers were all too fresh in his mind. He stank of defeat when he walked through the gates of Winterfell, bloodied and broken, but still alive. It took him a few tries before he understood what he heard.

 _I'm not a bastard, I'm the child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark._

All his life he had come to terms with being a bastard, only to know now that he wasn't.

 _They married in secret before they conceived you, Jon. You're a Targaryen,_ he could still hear Sam's voice telling him these words excitedly. He had a large smile on his face that time, excited to tell him he had a last name. His eyes were shining and expectant to see his joy as well. To be truthful, Sam looked more excited than he felt at that moment.

Suddenly, comprehension dawned on him now, piecing bits of information together.

 _Targaryen, the blood of a dragon._

This is why the dragon of Daenerys didn't attack him. This is why during the battle with wildlings on the wall, he wasn't burned by the fire he was threw over. _I have the blood of a dragon inside me_ , he had thought. He looked up and realized his feet had brought him in front of the crypt of Lyanna Stark, his mother.

 _The blood of a dragon but the appearance of a Stark._

He should have known. He always heard Lord Stark, his Uncle, tell Arya how he saw bits of Lyanna inside her. She was the only one that he looked like. They were the only two with the Stark appearance, which only strengthened their bond further. He stared at the statue of his mother, and he finally saw the resemblance. When he saw Arya again, he could barely believe his eyes at the woman before him. Though her hair seemed to be cut uneven, she outgrew the awkward phase of her long face, and became even more beautiful than before. Though, it saddened him that the laugh he missed, he hadn't heard just yet pass her lips. She had changed, they all had. No matter how much she's been through, the fact that she's alive was all that mattered. When he glimpsed the skinny sword on her hilt, he smiled that she had held onto it after all this time.

 _Needle_ , she named it, or more like they both did.

All he's ever wanted was this place he grew up in. Winterfell.

The Iron Throne did not appeal to him. His home was here and it will always be here, that remained unchanged by the years. When they started calling him "King of the North", he didn't know that the title would be so heavy. But he accepted it, as Robb accepted it before him. He wondered if Robb would be glad or not if he saw him here in the place always meant to be his. He pushed the thought aside first as he drifted away from his mother's crypt, past his uncle's, and passed his cousins crypts one by one. It felt odd to him to see it but he proceeded on his way and went straight down the path.

He spotted the spiral staircase leading down into an abyss of darkness. The one torch he held in his hand felt inadequate in the face of this darkness. Fear overcame him. He had never gone to the deepest crypts before. Fear stopped him from moving forward until he heard a voice in his head say, " _It's only in the face of fear that a man can be brave_."

He stepped forward onto the first step, then down, down the spiral he went. He went to the deepest crypts, and only stopped when he reached the bottom. He reached the rubble and pushed the stones and wood aside. Time had faded the words, the names of the kings that layed there at rest. He passed each and every crypt slowly, until he found something that caught his eye.

A newer crypt, compared to the rest. As he neared it, he read.

"Aegon Targaryen. 283 AC - . Son of Rhaegar Targaryen, House Targaryen. Son of Lyanna Stark, House Stark."

A crypt for a Targaryen, for him, in a sacred place for House Stark. _This is probably why they hated me in my dreams._

He had a place here. A Targaryen crypt in the midst of Starks.

He ventured deeper into the crypt that was made for him. He walked further in, and stopped at what he saw.

A dragon as white as Ghost. He remembered when he first heard Ghost when he was just a pup and knew he was meant to belong to him.

In this moment too, he knew this dragon is his.


	2. The Revelation

**_Hi guys! I didn't expect to continue this story today. My problem is that I know where I want this story to go, but it was difficult to find a way to get there. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. If you do - or even if you don't- leave a review to help me improve. I do not own Jon Snow and any other characters, places, created for Game of Thrones._**

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Jon noted the bones of rats and small animals that wandered the crypts in front of the feet of his dragon.

He approached the dragon carefully, hesitant but steady. The dragon's onyx eyes stared at his every move, but in a moment he felt the rough white scales under his palm and breathed an inward sigh of relief.

The dragon must have sensed the Targaryen blood in him and had taken a liking to him instantly. Jon could still barely believe his eyes. _I have a dragon,_ he thought, still stunned in disbelief. The dragon was calm and relaxed. He looked around and saw piles of bones behind him. There were no chains, but the dragon seemed content inside his crypt.

 _Hmm I can't keep on calling him dragon can I?_ , Jon Snow thought.

"What should I name you?", he asked out loud to the dragon before him. He laughed inwardly at the thought of the dragon replying. He once asked Daenerys what the names of her dragons were and why they were named so.

 _Viserion for Viserys her brother, Drogon for Khal Drogo her late husband, and Rhaegal for Rhaegar Targaryen "The Last Dragon"- his father_.

He sat cross legged on the stone cold floor of his crypt while absentmindedly patting his dragon. Jon doesn't know how long he thought on what to name him, he thought Arya would find it laughable. Suddenly inspiration hit him and he knew what his name should be.

"I'll call you Edrion from now on." he said to the dragon. His onyx eyes looked at him lazily as he relaxed under Jon's touch.

Edrion it is. After the one who probably put you here, Eddard Stark.

The problem now was glaringly obvious, but it took Jon awhile for it to cross his mind. Then it dawned on him, _how am I going to get you out of here?_ he thought.

They were in the deepest level of the crypts, and the stairs were much too narrow for a dragon of Edrion's size.

Now that he thought about it, his dragon was almost as large as Daenerys' dragons, smaller by a few feet or so. But he was no longer a baby, he grew up on his own.

"Sorry Edrion, it took me so long to find you." he said. Jon didn't want to keep his dragon down here in the crypts but he could think of no way to lead him out.

"I'll come back, I promise." Jon said to reassure Edrion. He pat his head one last time before he turned to walk away. He left his crypt, went up the spiral stairs, and walked out into the snow-covered outside.

He could think of only one person to ask, and headed straight for his room.

 _He might even be expecting me,_ he thought.

He headed into the castle and went straight through winding hallways until he stopped in front of a wooden door.

He knocked two times politely and said, "It's Jon."

"Come in" the voice replied.

He entered the room and headed by the bed to talk to the one who probably held the answers.

Bran.

"You found him already?" Bran asked all-knowingly. His voice at times seemed far away when he talked. Jon still wasn't used to this new Bran, he had an involuntary shudder.

"Yes. But he's far down in the crypts, there's no way to let him out to the surface without destroying it."

"That's true", Bran said while staring at Jon, blue eyes to black eyes, "There is no way." He said definitely.

"Wha-? So I'm supposed to leave a dragon hiding below Winterfell? Dragons need to roam free, it's in their nature." Jon said, not understanding that he should do nothing.

Bran remained calm as he directed the conversation elsewhere, "Have you ever thought why Winterfell was built on top of hot springs?"

"Winterfell is found in the north. The hot springs are necessary to survive the winter." Jon said matter of factly with a puzzled look on his face. The water from the hot springs flowed through Winterfell's walls, without it during winter would be the line between life and death. He'd known this since he was little, and Bran should have known this as well.

"True. But Winterfell was built for more than just to pass the winter inside it's warm walls." Bran said, before Jon could say anything. Bran continued, "There will come a time in the near future when the need for the dragon will be known to us, and there will be nothing in its path to stop it from rising.

The Stark words are winter is coming. Father always said, a Stark must always remain at Winterfell. When winter comes, we hold the key to ending it." Jon noted that Bran's voice seemed ominous at that moment.

"That's all you need to know for now," Bran said, his words doused with finality. Jon saw Bran start to lie down, and took that as a sign to leave.

Jon walked slowly towards the door. As he reached to open the door, he heard Bran's voice, "What did you name him?" he asked. Jon noticed that when he spoke this time his voice held a childlike quality, unlike his voice from before.

"Edrion."

"Edrion," Bran smiled at the name, "it's a good name. Don't worry about him, he was born in darkness, it's what he's used to. And I know that Ghost and the other direwolves have been helping him with food." He smiled knowingly.

Then Jon left and wondered about the day when Edrion would be needed. He feared the day would arrive too soon.

As he walked back to his quarters, amidst the snow outside, he noticed red eyes looking his way. He saw Ghost with a fresh kill in his mouth. He watched him until he lost sight of him somewhere behind the ruined part of Winterfell.

He recalled what Bran said, and decided to trust Ghost for now to take care of Edrion.

The moon was full and high in the sky. Jon thought about every word Bran said, trying to understand them. For that one night, he fell asleep without remembering the faces of those he had known. All his worries would have to wait until day breaks, for now he decided to rest.


	3. The Meeting

**Hi! I struggled a bit with this chapter but I hope it's not obvious. I don't want to make the story too rushed. I hope you guys enjoy this!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or anything encompassing the realm of Game of Thrones. :)**

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Jon woke up before the sunrise. No matter how many years has passed by, there's nothing like the sight of Winterfell in the morning.

He could see that aside from him, the stable keepers were busy gathering hay for the horses. He could hear the distant sound of clanging from the blacksmith working. He smiled and said, "this is home."

He walked around the castle on his way to the Great Hall to break his fast. To his surprise, he wasn't alone.

"Jon." He heard a feminine voice say, and he turned around though he already knew who called him as onyx eyes met onyx.

"Little sister." Jon knew that she wasn't his little sister but old habits died hard.

He stood and waited for Arya to catch up to him, and they walked together to the Great Hall.

"You're up early," he said to Arya. Now that she was closer, he saw the dark circles beneath her eyes. Before he even heard her reply, he understood.

"Couldn't sleep. You?" she said in a nonchalant manner.

"Same." They continued their walk in silence. When he got back to Winterfell, he was glad to see her at last. He hadn't thought it was real, but there she stood. It was all a blur since she jumped and hugged him before he could move an inch. He was happy but then he noticed something. There was darkness behind her eyes, her smiles never reaching it. She looked tired. The most disturbing thing though, was that she never told him what she went through. He didn't understand the scars she had, or how her small smooth hands became rough. It was strange that before he could read her with ease, and her only troubles were Sansa and her needlework. Now, he wished he knew what he could do for her. But he settled on waiting for her to open up to him once again.

He noticed Needle still on her hilt and remembered the day when he gave it to her. He's glad that at least Needle withstood the test of time. He noticed though that her sword was always on her. She'd grip it's hilt when she hears something, then after realizing it was nothing, she'd release it. He has yet to see her without it.

Before he noticed it, the wide doors of the Great Hall were in front of him. They sat down and their food placed in front of them. A short while later, he saw Sansa walk through the doors and sit with them at the table.

 _I wonder_ _if Bran will come to breakfast today,_ he wondered _._

He didn't have to wonder long before he heard the wheels of a burrow entering the great hall and saw Bran.

The clanging of cutlery against plates resonated throughout the stone-walled hall. He wondered if telling them about the dragon right now would be appropriate. He was always hesitant before talking to them. They **are** family, but the years have changed many things. Once, the walls of Winterfell contained laughter and glee. Now, things felt strained and heavy, even the silence.

 _They're family, they deserve to know_.

Jon cleared his throat then announced to the table, "I have something to tell you all."

He saw Sansa put her cutlery down to listen like the proper lady she vowed to be. He saw Arya stop mid-bite waiting curiously to hear the news. He saw Bran wait patiently for him to speak. He wasn't sure exactly how to phrase the news, but informed them in a straight forward manner.

"There's a dragon under the crypts."

Sansa looked shocked and terrified at the same time. He looked to Arya and saw her eyes brighten, brimming with curiousity.

"How big is he? Is he still there? Can I see him? Are you going to put him in the courtyard?", Arya asked rushed. Before he could answer, Sansa's voice interrupted him.

"We can't keep a dragon in the courtyard! He might end up burning us all and Winterfell to the ground!"

"Why not? He's a dragon, dragons aren't meant to stay hiding underground. They need to fly!" Arya replied passionately.

Jon sighed and felt an oncoming headache. Despite himself he smiled though in the midst of their bickering. _Some things don't change at all._

He realized if he waited for them to stop arguing, he'd end up waiting forever.

"We can't keep him in the courtyard." He said, and he saw Sansa's face turn smug while looking at Arya.

"But, wh-" Arya started to say, but before she could finish her question, Jon went on.

"He's too big to take out of the crypts. He's hidden in the deepest level. He can't fit through the passageways."

 _Or at least the passageways I know of_ , he thought. Winterfell has been known to be a maze with mysteries hiding behind its walls.

"So we're just going to leave a dragon beneath the castle?", Arya said indignantly.

"For now." Jon replied.

"What do you mean 'for now'? He's beneath the crypts, we can't destroy the crypts! They're sacred. It'll anger the gods!" Sansa said defensively.

To be honest, even Jon himself didn't know what to do. He could only think of the words Bran told him last night, which wasn't much to go by.

"When the time has come, we'll all know it." Bran said nonchalantly. The table fell silent. Bran never said much since he became the "Three-eyed Raven", but when he did speak it always felt strange to follow.

He looked around the table and saw Sansa and Arya go back to eating. He stared at his unfinished food and forced himself to stomach it all. Ever since he was revived, he found his appetite dwindling.

"Excuse me, I'll take my leave. I'll be in my quarters if you need me," Jon said as he excused himself from the table. He stood up and walked the length of the Great Hall and out its doors.

 _I still need to plan on what to do about the White Walkers. Winter is here, we need to stop them._ Jon was lost in his thoughts and didn't notice the faint footsteps following him.

"Can I see the dragon?"

Jon was startled out of his thoughts and looked at Arya behind him. _How long has she been following me?_

Jon knew first hand how relentless Arya can be, well at least when she was younger. He hesitated though, scared of whether the dragon would take to her so easily.

"I'll be fine." She said, trying to convince him. She must have noticed the worry on his face.

"He might try to burn you. He isn't trained." He said, though he knew a losing battle when he saw one.

"I'll dodge. I swear." For a moment, Jon saw Arya's childishness again and he was glad for it. She was the one he had missed the most. That's why he gave in.

"Fine," he said to which he saw Arya rejoice. "BUT, if I sense danger of any sort, I will haul you out of there whether you like it or not." His warning though fell on deaf ears as Arya started to walk towards the crypts.

"Come on, hurry up Jon!"

Jon sighed and hoped that he could control Edrion if the need arises. He caught up with Arya and stepped in front to lead. He walked through the crypts to the spiral staircase until they reached the lowest level. His heart was hammering in his chest.

 _I shouldn't have given in, if something happens.._

Then he stopped himself from following his train of thought. He had too many memories of burned bodies to not know what it would look like. His fear for her grew with each second.

He felt a small push at his back, and turned around and saw a very impatient looking Arya.

"What are you waiting for? Go on." she ordered him. _I give this girl too much liberties_ , he thought.

He pushed his fear aside and stepped steadily, past the unreadable crypts until he arrived at his. He heard the stop of footsteps behind him. He saw her read the name on the crypt with a small smile on her lips.

"It's yours." She said so softly, there wasn't even an echo.

"Aye, it is," he said before stepping further into the crypt, "come on, he's down here."

She followed him, slowly, as if she was walking on sacred ground. He signaled her to stop when she was a few feet away, thankfully she obliged. He neared Edrion to check if he was asleep.

 _Please be asleep. Please be asleep. Please be asleep. Please be asleep._

Alas, he saw the white dragon with onyx eyes wide awake. He seemed pleased to see him.

"Hi, Edrion." He greeted as he neared to touch him. Edrion was as docile as Ghost was when he was a pup.

"We have a visitor today. Try to be nice, okay?" he told Edrion, hoping the message would get across.

 _I should write Daenerys to ask how she tamed her dragons_.

"No killing, okay?" he followed up tentatively as he stepped back to where Arya was.

"Step forward.. slowly," he instructed her. She gave a slight nod, and he watched as she neared Edrion one step at a time. He watched with bated breath as he saw Edrion slowly stand up and near her. She stopped moving forward and instinctively held out her hand. He watched as the onyx eyes of Edrion took her in. He braced himself, ready to act if ever he needed to. He could see Edrion sniffing her hand while baring his teeth. He moved forward and he let Arya pet him.

Jon released a breath he didn't know he was holding as relief washed over him. He stood and watched as Edrion relaxed and lay down at Arya's feet.

"He's beautiful." Arya whispered to him. He saw her eyes full of awe at the sight of Edrion. "What's his name? I heard you call him something.."

"Edrion."

"Edrion.." she said slowly, rolling the name around on her tongue. "After..?"

"After Eddard Stark." he said, and he swallowed a lump in his throat at the thought of the one who raised him as a father. Jon saw Arya stop for a second as she heard the name of her father. It was just a moment but he knew she still missed him. "It's a good name," she said with a sad smile on her lips.

As much as Jon wanted to let the two bond more, there were things to plan and do. He also knew she had to train with Lady Brienne.

"We should get going," he said.

Arya gave a slight nod, and with one more goodbye to Edrion, they turned and left going into the courtyard. The courtyard seemed brighter and louder than he remembered it from moments before. The sun was high in the sky now.

"Go on, you'll be late for your training." Jon said. The sun's rays seemed to remind him of all his worries. Reality seemed to cease to exist when he was down in the crypts. As Jon walked away he heard her voice say "Jon.."

He looked at her a few feet away.

"Thank you." she said then she turned on her heels heading for the courtyard to train. Jon swore that her smile finally reached her eyes. He headed to his quarters to once again stare at a map of the North. He had many things to do, and he hoped that there was still enough time to figure things out.


	4. The Plan

_**Hi! It's been awhile. The holidays got in the way of updating but here you go. :) BTW, just a clarification there are some minor GoT spoilers in this story, I just chose not to acknowledge the Jon/Daenerys moments. Haha, I'm sure they'd be lovely together but there were too few episodes to convince me in the series. Maybe the books will change my mind. No Daenerys loving history here. Again, I do not own the characters or any parts of the realms of the series. Enjoy! :)**_

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As Jon stared at the large map of Westeros in front of him, he heard two soft knocks on his door. He heard the sound of approaching footsteps and saw his steward standing before him.

"M'lord. Ser Davos has arrived."

Jon gave him a slight nod to acknowledge him. "Let him in."

He heard his steward open the door to let his advisor in. Soft and hesitant footsteps were then replaced by heavier but surer ones.

"Your Grace."

"Ser Davos. How far along are our arrangements for the winter?"

"Your Grace, Lady Sansa has ensured the food stores of Winterfell to last as long as the Long Night and even longer. Gendry is still working on more weapons out of dragonglass each day. The number of weapons are still far from enough."

Jon felt gratfeul that he had people to rely on. Sansa is supporting Winterfell and had taken on the role of Lady of Winterfell quite well. Ser Davos did well in finding Gendry, a strong fighter and a blacksmith.

"Are there any news from the Wall on the White Walkers?"

Ser Davos hesitated for a second. Jon felt that the news to follow would be far less reassuring than the former.

"The Night's Watch has stopped sending rangers to scout the area. The ones they did send out, have yet to return. They refuse to lose more men to the dead. They say the snow is falling more than before and the winds have gotten stronger."

Jon gave a sigh once again. The Night's Watch is but a shadow of what it was before. They needed more men, but the houses refused to aid them. The wall won't hold at this rate. Frustration was overcoming him. Despite the ravens they had sent out, no reply ever came to aid their need for men.

"They need help. They need more men understandably. I have to-"

"Your Grace, I'm sorry to interrupt but you going to the Wall again won't do any good. The northern houses are proud people, as their King you need to stay here. You're no longer a brother of the Night's Watch. Once was enough for you to leave them, they won't tolerate more."

He knew Ser Davos was right. Sansa had told him how restless they were when he went North of the Wall to catch a wight to convince Cersei for a truce.

"Alright, I'll ask again the Northern houses to spare some men to aid the Night's Watch." That's all I can do for them now. _Sorry, brothers._

"Any other news?"

"From the Eastwatch, Your Grace. They need more supplies."

"I'll write Edd to see if they have supplies to spare them."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Jon looked down at the map in front of him, focusing on the North. There were millions in the Army of the Dead and only thousands of them. He was glad that he had Daenerys' support, but he thought back to that day when he saw one of her dragons killed. The dead belonged to the White Walkers, he knows that, he saw it for himself. The Night King raised the dead to join his army. _A dragon in the army of the dead_. He shuddered at the thought. They needed Daenerys' two other dragons more than ever.

"The army of the dead are in the millions. We don't have the numbers to face them head on. We need to find a way to clear a path to the White Walkers, the generals. If they go down, the ones they turned go down with them," he thought out loud. "Our best chances of clearing a path through would be with the Dothraki and the dragons."

"Don't forget the Knights of the Vale, Your Grace," Ser Davos reminded him.

He nodded in response. The Knights of the Vale were strong in numbers and were like the Dothraki in that matter. They use their numbers to their advantage. There was a problem though.

"The Knights are a proud bunch that look down on those without ranks. We need them to cooperate with the Dothraki for this to work."

He knew though that he wouldn't be the one to convince them. Technically, it's Sansa that they serve. _I need to talk to Sansa about this._

"The Unsullied could attack from the periphery with the aid of the rest of the Northern houses. We'll need the best archers high up. Tell Gendry to make dragonglass arrows as well. I'll ask the lords to send for their blacksmiths to aid us in Winterfell. Gendry will have to teach em to handle the dragonglass well. We need all those dragonglass to become weapons, it's too much to ask of one man."

"Of course, Your Grace." Ser Davos was about to leave until he heard Jon call him.

"Ser Davos?"

"Yes, Your Grace?"

Jon stared at King's Landing on the map and frowned at it's image. _Our plan revolves around men that aren't of the North._

"I know that Cersei agreed to a truce, but how likely is it that she'll break it?"

Ser Davos approached the table and looked at King's Landing. He searched Ser Davos' expression and any hope of reassurance was gone.

"Very likely, Your Grace," he said grimly.

"Our entire plan relies on the men of Daenerys' army. If the truce is broken..." _They'll retreat from the North_ , he finished the sentence in his head refusing to say the words out loud.

"Your Grace. I can't speak on behalf of the Dragon Queen, I don't know how she thinks. I **do** know that she saw the army of the dead. She knows and understands how crucial this war is. She may not retreat her forces, Your Grace."

"But if she does?"

Ser Davos hesitated in thought, and said, "Then we fight with what we have."

"We'll need another plan. How many men do we have without Daenerys' army?"

"Around 20,000 men, Your Grace."

"These are only the men and knights trained in fighting am I right? What of the women and children old enough to fight?"

"Your Grace, I don't have the numbers for them but their numbers will not count for much if they remain untrained. The knights are unwilling to train them." Jon knew it was a risky proposal to ask the lords of the different houses to train their women and children. He knew the Northerners took their traditions seriously. Men and women have always been treated differently and have been trained in different trades. _I need to find a way to train them, there's no need for these rules in times of war._

Jon nodded and dismissed Ser Davos.

He was left to his silence and his thoughts. We need all the living people in the North to fight, lest they become more of the dead to fight against. He willed himself to think of another plan.

By the time Jon stepped out for some fresh air, the sun had already set giving way to the darkness. The snow fell gently against the stark contrast of the black sky. The cold air entered his lungs and he saw the smoke form with every exhale. _It was colder on the Wall_ , he thought. He remembered when he left the Wall, handing his position over to the one man he trusted the most, Edd.

 _"Don't let it fall. Hold the wall."_ he told him and Edd nodded and watched as he rode away. He hoped that the wall that was said to be made of magic could hold off the Army of the Dead. His gut told him though that it wouldn't. Even with the 2,000 wildlings he sent to aid the Watch, it won't be enough.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of swords clanging. _Who could be practicing this late?_

He followed the sound to the courtyard and saw two figures. He couldn't see their faces well, but he continued to watch them practice from a distance. The smaller of the two figures appeared to be more experienced and faster than the larger one. The smaller one would dance around in circles but with no wasted movements. He saw the larger one stumble around at an attempt to dodge the attacks but failing. Time after time, with each spar, the larger figure would end up on the ground. The smaller figure was far more better at fighting. Whether it was minutes or hours, Jon couldn't say, the larger figure fell to the ground and didn't stand up right away. He could see the figure's chest heaving in an attempt to catch his breath. He heard a distinctly male voice say breathlessly, "I yield."

Jon stepped closer to see the faces of the practicing figures. The one on the ground he remembered to be Lady Brienne's squire. _Podrick something_ , he thought. Then he heard the other figure's voice ring out with small laughter, and was surprised that it was female. The woman held out her hand to help Podrick up to a standing position.

"You've gotten better, you know? You just have to be more confident and sure in your strikes."

Jon would know that voice anywhere. _It's Arya_ , he thought with a mixture of bewilderment and awe. He couldn't help the small smile that graced his lips.

"Doesn't feel like I've gotten any better, my lady. You're too kind," he heard Podrick say shyly.

"I'm many things, but I don't think I'm kind," she said with amusement in her voice. "You're better, but you're far from being good enough. Go ahead and get some rest, we'll train again in the morrow."

He saw Podrick bow his head in reply then turn around and leave. He was unsure of whether it be wise to make his presence known, but his feet brought him forward, closer to Arya.

Her back was turned to him. When he was about a foot away, she spun around with the training sword in her hand and aimed for his throat. Everything happened so fast. Jon didn't know when his instincts kicked in, and he dodged the sword by leaning back.

"Woah.. Arya, I yield." He said with his hands in the air in a joking manner.

"Oh, Jon. Sorry bout that," she said as she relaxed the wooden sword in her hand. She continued to put away the swords.

"You're strong, Arya. You've gotten good at fighting."

The swords were securely in place and she bent to pick up her hilt with Needle in it. She faced him as she replied, "I had to." Her eyes looked haunted in the moonlight for a second but was gone with a single gust of the winter wind.

"We all had to change, but I'm glad it brought you back here to Winterfell alive." He said as he messed up her hair, and he saw the ghost of a smile.

"How long you've been training the Podrick lad?"

"For a while now. Around the time I met him and Lady Brienne."

Jon couldn't think of the proper way to bring up what he had to say at the right time. He had an idea when he watched their two figures practicing moments ago. So he just said it. "I need you to train people to fight."

He saw her face with an amused smile. "What? I think you've gone mad. You need some rest, Jon," she said jokingly.

Jon insisted though. "I need you to help train the women and children and the other men who can fight to fight. We need more people for the Great War, you know this much is true. I've told you what I've seen."

Arya noticed how serious Jon was and her eyes turned a steely grey. "You have the knights of your bannermen, the leaders of the houses of the North. You don't need me."

She turned to walk away but Jon grabbed onto her wrist to stop her. "Let me ask you this at least, then why are you training Podrick? He's squire to Lady Brienne, she's one of the most talented fighters in the realm. Why you and not her?"

She brushed his hand aside and faced him. She had a questioning look on her face but at least he got her attention again.

"He asked me to train him is all."

"But why?" There must be a reason, and if Jon's thinking is right, it'll prove his point on why it has to be her. She hesitated a moment but then replied.

"He saw me fight with Lady Brienne and he said he was amazed. Lady Brienne is taller and has a stronger built than I do, any person could see that she's powerful. He said Lady Brienne has tried to teach him during their journey. But he had never seen someone as fast as I am or more precise with the sword. He knew he could never be as powerful as Lady Brienne so he wanted me to teach him to overcome his own lack of strength."

A silence followed as Arya heard the words she recalled Podrick say. Jon knew at that moment that she'd agree.

"We need more people to fight in this war, we can't just rely on the knights and trained men. We need the women and children and the men the knights might have scared away from ever fighting. We need you, Arya. You can show them how to fight. You're strong, they'll see that. We need **everyone** to aid us for the Great War."

She thought for a moment, mulling around Jon's words in her head. She touched the handle of Needle in her hilt and came to a decision. She smiled and raised her hands in mock defeat, "I yield," she said jokingly. "I always knew I was never meant to be a lady. You win, Your Grace."

Jon smiled and laughed at her mock surrender. "You'll always be a lady. You're just a lady with a sword."

"Thank you, Arya. I mean it, I need your help more than ever." Jon hugged her and felt her small arms hug him back.

"You'll always have my help, Jon."

They walked back through the halls of Winterfell towards their respective quarters. Jon felt the urge to ask the question that was on his mind since he saw her in the courtyard. The words slipped out into the silence before he had the conscious thought to stop it.

"Who trained you to fight?"

Jon had never expected Arya to become as good a fighter as she was right now. When he gave her Needle as a parting gift, he had never thought that it would come as both a curse and blessing. The silence that followed was deafenening and heavy. _I shouldn't have asked that_ , he thought. He was about to speak up to take back the question but then he heard her voice.

"The First Sword of Braavos, Syrio Forel." She said the name quietly, though the name reverberated around the entire hallway.

"He must be an amazing swordsman."

"He was," she said with a sad smile and a distant look in her eyes. Before he knew it, they had arrived in front of her quarters.

"Good night, Jon." She said as she opened the wooden doors to her quarters.

"Good night, Arya." Jon ruffled her hair and kissed her forehead. "Rest well. You'll need it to train well in the morrow."

He turned and headed for his quarters. Arya was his best bet right now, he could only hope that things will go well tomorrow.

 _The die has been cast, there's no turning back. Forward is the only way I can go._


	5. The Problem

_**Hi guys! It's been awhile, but it took me awhile to get this chapter right. I really struggle in making dialogues (really, why do I even write? haha). But here you go. I hope you guys enjoy! I'm an Arya fan, but I love Sansa too. I tried my best to show her well. :) Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or any part of Game of thrones.**_

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The sound of Jon's footsteps echoed in the hallways of the sleeping castle. He awoke with the lingering feeling of restlessness and panic swimming in his veins.

 _It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream._

He tried to soothe his thoughts but to no avail. His thoughts overwhelmed him. He didn't notice the howling of the winter winds, or the crunching of snow with every step he took. His feet brought him to the place he dreamed of moments before. He hesitated as flashes of his dream came to him vividly and the fear set in again.

Jon closed his eyes and saw cold blue eyes flash in his mind.

 _I need to see it. I need to make sure_ , he convinced himself. He knew that sleep wouldn't welcome him until he checked. With his mind made up, he once again stepped into the crypts. The howling of the winds faded away the further he went in. He looked from right to left and left to right again. He double checked the statues to be sure.

"Nothing but stone."

His words filled the corners of the crypts. The statue's eyes were stone grey, not blue. Their swords still lay across their laps.

Jon wondered if he heard one too many stories from Old Nan. He smiled fondly at her memory. They may have managed to reclaim the castle of Winterfell, but it will never be the same as the Winterfell of his memories.

Jon navigated through the crypts, going down the spiral stairs to the deepest level. He walked to a familiar space and called out to the darkness.

"Edrion."

The white onyx-eyed dragon stepped out from the darkness like a ghost. Edrion lay down in front of Jon's feet, allowing himself to be pet.

 _He's like a giant dog._ Jon laughed at the thought as he showed Edrion some affection. He noted the skeletons of small animals lining the crypt.

"It's good you're fed."

Jon looked on at the sight of Edrion's white scales beneath his hand. Jon first heard about dragons from one of the many stories of Old Nan. He was captivated by every word. He would run outside and imagine a dragon flying around with him. He asked Old Nan once where he could find a dragon of his own, she simply smiled and told another story.

 _Maybe she knew, but how could she really?_ He laughed at the thought. Maybe Old Nan knew more than they all believed.

"You've grown, Edrion," he said into the silence. He noticed the dragon to be as large as the dragons of Daenerys. He felt such awe when he saw her dragons flying around in Dragonstone. Jon tried to replace the image in his mind. Winterfell instead of Dragonstone, snow instead of sunshine, and Edrion flying around the castle. The white scaled dragon would fly around as the snow fell in a blizzard around him. Nothing but snow and Edrion visible against the pitch dark sky.

It would be beautiful. Beautiful and frightening at the same time.

"Soon," he whispered to Edrion. Though he didn't know his words to be true, the word slipped out before he could stop it.

Jon stood up slowly and turned to exit his crypt. He climbed up the spiral stairs and walked until he reached the outside. With every pass of the statues, he felt their eyes watching him, and checked one last time if their eyes were blue.

Once he stepped out, he saw the sky was a light blue and the winds had seemed to settle. _It's nearly daybreak_ , he noted. He looked up to the Broken Tower and saw crows spread around it's ruins.

"Corn, corn," he heard a crow squawk. He wondered if it was the same crow he usually saw with the late Lord Commander.

He walked past the First Keep and the Guards Hall, heading for the courtyard. As he neared, he heard multiple voices but no clanging of swords.

 _It's too early for trouble_ , he thought as he navigated and saw a crowd gathered in the middle. He saw to his right, a group of women and children from the different houses of the North. Comprehension dawned on him.

Boisterous laughter rang out from the middle of the courtyard. Jon heard a male voice, unknown to him, say, "Lady Stark, I think you're lost. You don't belong here."

He saw the sigil on the knight's armor. _White sunburst on black._ _Karstark._ He looked to the knight and saw that he was young but with a sturdy build. Standing across from him was Arya. He noticed her hand resting on the hilt of Needle.

"Ser, I'd like to remind you that Winterfell is my home. I belong in every part of it."

"My lady, I don't question you being at your home. But the courtyard is for us knights to train. Are you a knight my lady?"

"No, I am not."

"Now, My Lady, you see the problem." He said as he looked around to the group of men that have gathered around them. They all nodded in agreement. He glanced at the women and children, shrinking in their midst. Even to Jon, they looked out of place in the courtyard but Jon didn't want them to feel that way.

"I don't know about **the** problem you speak of. But I have a duty to do, to train these people to fight. So your useless banter is **a** problem for me," Arya said. She held the knight's gaze steadily and stood with arms crossed. She was standing her ground even as the men around her started to laugh at her tenacity. _Wolf's blood_ , he thought as he looked at Arya. He had heard Ned Stark use that term to describe Arya's wildness before. _It suits her._

Laughter continued as the knight looked around at the other men.

"Your duty, my lady? Your duty to whom exactly?"

"To me," Jon said, finally making his presence known. The men on either side of him stepped aside to allow him space to pass. The murmurs grew louder at his words. He approached closer to where the knight and Arya stood.

"Your Grace, I don't mean to disrespect, but the Lady isn't qualified to teach. And to teach to fight nonetheless."

Before he could speak, he heard Arya's voice.

"Then why don't we spar?",she asked the knight as she unsheathed Needle from her hilt. "You can judge for yourself, with your own eyes, whether I'm qualified enough or not."

The knight flushed at the challenge and disbelief was in his eyes. He laughed, though this time it was only him laughing.

"Your Grace, you can't expect me to actually fight a Lady?" he asked incredulous to the suggestion.

"Ser, if you question my order, then it would be best that you judge for yourself her capabilities." Jon was unsure of himself even as he said the words. He was still a knight after all, and he only saw Arya fight that one time when training Podrick. _It's a risk, but it's necessary._ "You have my permission to spar with the Lady."

The murmurs around him grew louder, and he saw the curiousity and disbelief in the eyes of those around him. He saw the knight in front of him blanch at his words.

"Your Grace, I couldn't dare hurt a lady."

"No need to fear for me Ser. I'll do my best not to harm you as well." He heard a few men laugh at the Lady's words, but not mockingly, he noted in relief.

The knight turned from Arya to Jon to Arya again. His hand placed hesitatingly on the hilt of his sword as he stared at Needle in Arya's hand.

Jon walked towards the practice swords lying on the ground. He picked two up and headed back to the both of them.

"Put away Needle, Arya," he said as he handed her a practice sword, "use this instead. You too, good Ser. To ease your worries. Fight without fear." Jon handed the practice sword to the knight. He hesitated, but at Jon's insistence he took the practice sword in his hands.

Jon then stepped back to give room to the pair, and the other men in the courtyard followed. The rest of the castle was starting to awake. He heard the bustling around of the armorer's and heard the clanging of metal from the blacksmiths working. The courtyard at that moment though remained silent. All eyes gravitated towards the knight and the lady, both with swords in hand. The knight held the sword in both hands, while Arya held it with one. With bated breath, each man, woman, and child in the courtyard waited with anticipation for the first move. They didn't have to wait long.

In the span of a second, Arya took the initiative upon herself to lunge and attempt a hit to the left. The knight was shocked but was able to block it in time.

Left, right, left, back, left.

Arya advanced steadily on the knight, who in his efforts to block each hit unknowingly stepping back with every advance. He realized that staying on the defensive won't work out for him too well. He overcame his doubts and joined in the offensive as well.

The knight was good and steady with every hit. But Arya was too fast and dodged all his attempts, as if she were dancing around him. She would easily jump out of the way and would hit the back of the knight, his knees, his arm, and so on.

Jon felt impressed and he realized how much she was holding back that night he saw her training Podrick. He looked around at the faces of those observing the fight alongside him. He saw amusement in some, as well as awe and admiration in others.

 _Good. But what matters is the end of the fight._ He reminded himself that they weren't out of the clear just yet.

As he turned his attention back to the fight, the knight looked tired and frustrated and knocked against Arya pushing her to the ground. A collective gasp escaped the lips of the women and children nearby. It seemed they were completely on their Lady's side. Before the knight could point his sword to her neck, Arya rolled to the side. The knight managed to land a strike on her arm in the process. Arya jumped up off the ground in position. The knight recklessly attempted to make her yield by force. The sound of impact between the two swords resonated around the courtyard. All throughout the fight, he noticed that Arya never used her other hand to support the sword. The knight was using both hands to strike. _The difference in power should be evident, but it isn't._

The knight attempted to attack from her side, but before he noticed it she had slid around and swiped his feet from beneath him. Just as quickly, Arya had the tip of her sword to the knight's throat.

"Yield," she insisted.

Jon saw the knight's chest heaving for breath and his face was red and sweaty. He looked to Arya and saw only a few wisps of hair that fell out of place from where they were held. Her breathing was steady and she had a small smile on her lips.

"Yield," she insisted again while she moved the tip of the sword closer to his throat. He hadn't noticed how or when the knight's sword escaped his hands until now.

The knight took one deep breath and finally said, "I yield." After the words escaped the knight's lips, the silence of thr crowd erupted into a ruckus. Some men approached Arya and expressed their congratulations. He looked to the group of women and children who still stood in awe. He felt relief that it turned out well.

"Fight's over. Get back to training now." Jon yelled and he saw the crowd disperse, each person busying their selves. But every now and then, he saw their eyes turn back to the pair as their hands were busy doing something else.

Jon saw Arya hold out a hand to the knight on the ground, and she helped him stand up. The knight seemed embarrassed but not a single complaint escaped his lips.

"Yer strong, My Lady." He said, nodding approvingly at Arya.

"So are you, Ser." Arya replied with a smile. The knight patted her shoulder and left. He heard the knight being welcomed by jokes and taunts. Despite the jokes, he knew that after what they all saw, no one would question Arya again. He caught Arya's eye as she walked back to the group of women and children she was to teach. They smiled at each other then Arya turned back her attention to the group. She gave them orders which they were more than willing to follow. He was thankful at the eagerness he saw in their eyes now to learn.

As Jon took looked around the courtyard, a glimpse of red hair caught his eye from the bridge between the Armory and the Great Keep.

 _Sansa._

Jon knew he still needed to talk to her so he headed up to the bridge and approached her. When Jon neared where Sansa stood, he noticed her eyes still on the courtyard in the direction of where Arya was teaching.

"Lady Sansa."

"Your Grace."

Being addressed as 'Your Grace' still felt strange and foreign to his ears. Formalities never suited him.

He explained to Sansa about his plan, specifically the role of the Knights of the Vale and the Dothraki. Though he was talking, Sansa's eyes were glued to the courtyard. He had no doubt though that she was listening.

"..that's where I'll need your help. To persuade them." He concluded, though he heard the hesitation in his voice.

Silence.

Jon didn't know if he should say something more. Jon was never as close to Sansa as he was with Arya. He could never guess what Sansa was thinking behind her pleasantries, and even more, behind her silence.

"For this you confide in me," she said in a calm and measured tone as she turned to face him, "But you failed to confide your plan of turning my sister into a soldier in your army."

He felt the anger in her words, and saw it even more in the glare of her Tully blue eyes. _She's just like her mother_. If they weren't outside in public, he felt she would have slapped him right there.

"She's my sister. My **only** sister. And you-"

Before Sansa could continue, Jon corrected her. "Our. She's _**our**_ sister."

"No," Sansa said definitively. "She's your cousin. But she **is** my sister. The blood that flows within her is the exact same as the one that flows within me."

Jon could say nothing against that. He knew he had been rash when he asked Arya to help him, but it was necessary.

"I apologize for not telling you beforehand, but I don't apologize for my decision. Arya is the only one I could have asked this from."

Sansa scoffed in disbelief, "Really? She's the _**only one**_? You're surrounded by Knights, by fighters seasoned in battle! But, no. You chose her."

"I know you're not blind, Sansa. You must have known from the moment she came back to Winterfell how much she's changed. Even before that, before we left, she was as much as a fighter than us boys." Jon took her silence as permission to go on.

"You saw her. Just now, you saw her fight that knight. You saw her **defeat** a knight. You saw it, and all the men that were standing there in that courtyard saw it too. Even from up here, you must have seen the awe in the eyes of the women and children she's supposed to teach. They all watched her fight, and without even knowing it she inspired them. This is why it **has** to be Arya. She's a highborn lady. She was raised with a needle in her hand, not a sword. She's not supposed to be able to fight, but she can. She's good at it too. Yes, there may be more trained fighters here, but that's not the point. It's not skill but inspiration that we need. All the women and children should **want** to fight. With Arya, that's what we have." Jon tried to read Sansa's expression, but she betrayed nothing.

"We need every able person to fight if we want a chance at winning this war," Jon said as he looked down to the ongoing training of men, women, and children. It was quite the sight. He never thought he'd see the day when women were allowed to fight and train alongside men. He felt a sense of accomplishment at the sight before him.

Sansa turned her eyes back to the courtyard. He knew she understood the point he wanted to get across. She took a deep breath and turned back to face Jon.

"I'll speak to Lord Royce."

Relief flooded Jon's entire being. "Thank you, Sansa."

Jon thought their conversation was over and started to walk away. He had only took a few steps, but he stopped when he heard Sansa's voice.

"Don't let her die, Jon." She spoke softly, and he turned and saw fear in her eyes. She wasn't Lady Sansa at that moment, just Sansa Stark. As much as he wanted to promise that he wouldn't, he couldn't. He knew that in times of war, every person was only a step away from death. Jon wished he could lie, but he couldn't.

 _Damn the Stark in me._

"I'll try my best," was all Jon could say. His words did little to even reassure himself, and did even less for Sansa. She let it go though, and he saw as she transformed back to Lady Sansa while hiding her fears away.

Jon let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, but felt far from relieved. He looked back to where Arya was watching two women fight, stopping them at times to correct their positions. He was thankful in a way for the problem earlier that morning, because of that he believed there would be no problems with the other men.

His thoughts grew grim when he imagined Arya in the Great War to come. He knew he could never stop her from fighting, and even if he tried, she would find a way to be in the battlefield anyways.

 _She won't die_ , he tried to convince his mind. _She's a good and talented fighter._

 _Many good and talented fighters and knights and soldiers have died in battle and you know it_ , said the voice in his head.

 _But she won't. I'll protect her._ He told himself, trying as hard as he could to be confident. He looked again at Arya and the Stark features they shared. _I have to_.

The voice in his head became female and familiar as it said, _You know nothing, Jon Snow._


End file.
